Saint ***butt’s Home for the Elderly and Unstable
Where Is Bob?
“Bingo!” screamed Gerard.
“Bingo’s been over for two damn hours,” said Quinn Alman grumpily, regarding Gerard with mean, wrinkly eyes from across the living room.
“He can’t help it, he has Alytimer’s!” Frank defended.
“That’s Alzheimer’s,” Mikey corrected.
“Where?” asked Bert, peering around. Mikey had been waiting for some sort of outburst between him and Gerard all night, but surprisingly they had not seemed to have noticed each other since the incident earlier that day.
“Why don’t they have a rockstar version of Bingo?” Frank asked, slapping his teethless gums together.
“That’s a good question…” said Ray, then fell asleep.
Mikey shifted impatiently. “Why don’t we go visit the Unicorn Stables, Gerard?” he asked eagerly. “Would you like that?”
“No, Bob, we have to be onstage in ten minutes.”
“I’m not Bob,” Mikey informed Gerard, sighing again, “Bob’s not here right now.”
“Bob died?” said Adam Lazzara. “I’m so sorry to hear that…”
After a few seconds Frank made a little noise of distress. “Bob died? When?”
“No, no, Bob didn’t die, he’s in his room sleeping.”
“Sleeping… yes… you just keep telling yourself that,” muttered Adam, shuffling away with his walker.
“I never even got to say goodbye!” sobbed Frank.
“Bob is alive,” insisted Mikey. “C’mon, I’ll take you to see him.”
Mikey took Frank’s hand and pushed Gerard with his other, out into the hall. Mikey had to take out his map to remember the way to where Bob and the rest of MCR were.
“Let’s see, Rock is level three.”
“I thought that was the Country level?” said Frank.
“No, Country is level two.”
“Then where is Metal?”
“That’s a section of the Rock level.”
“Why don’t we live on the Rap, Hip-Hop and R&B level?” inquired Gerard.
“Because we were never Rap, Hip-Hop or R&B artists!” exclaimed Mikey.
“Says society,” said Frank. “I think we can choose to be whatever we want.”
Mikey growled silently. He was starting to wish he hadn’t moved in here. He hadn’t even gotten to visit the Unicorn stables yet! He rolled Gerard out of the elevator into Rock level 3. They needed three levels for Rock because there were so many subgenres of it.
“Let’s see, Emo is just to the left,” said Mikey. Each ward, be it Punk, Psychedelic or Heavy Metal, was decorated with memorabilia of the genre. Emo just happened to have black walls spattered with red paint to look like blood, and paper razors hanging from the ceiling. At least it had, until a few people had become offended, and they had taken the paper razors down. They hadn’t bothered to repaint the walls, though, because that took an awful lot of work.
Robots and broken heart’s had been stenciled onto some of the doors, and they had painted intestines on the floor. Mikey didn’t exactly get that last part. Must have confused this for another genre there, he thought.
Each rockstar had their own room, with their band name printed in it’s signature font on their door. Mikey navigated Gerard into Bob’s room, which was decorated with candy wrappers, calendars and a letter Spencer Smith and written to Bob. Spencer had died some years ago in a freak video game accident. Bob had not yet gotten over it.
“See, Bob’s fi…” Mikey trailed off, because Bob wasn’t even there.
“He’s… dead?” said Gerard.
“No, he must have just gone out!”
“Maybe he went to the Chapel?” suggested Frank. “It is Sunday, after all.”
“Maybe, but which Chapel do you think he’d go to? The regular one, the one for worshiping the Beatles, or the Ozzy Osborne/Prince Of Darkness chapel?”
Frank thought about this, his mouth hanging open, a string of drool making its way down his chin.
“Let’s just try them all,” said Mikey finally.
“Easy for you to say!” exclaimed Frank. “You may be surprisingly youthful for your age, but some of us used up a little too much energy when we were young…”
“Well, then, we can rest, if you want,” offered Mikey.
“No!” yelled Gerard. “I must find who stole my eyeliner! They will pay!”
“You go on without me,” said Frank.
“Alright, if you’re sure,” said Mikey, and pushed Gerard down the hallway and into the elevator.
“Bingo’s been over for two damn hours,” said Quinn Alman grumpily, regarding Gerard with mean, wrinkly eyes from across the living room.
“He can’t help it, he has Alytimer’s!” Frank defended.
“That’s Alzheimer’s,” Mikey corrected.
“Where?” asked Bert, peering around. Mikey had been waiting for some sort of outburst between him and Gerard all night, but surprisingly they had not seemed to have noticed each other since the incident earlier that day.
“Why don’t they have a rockstar version of Bingo?” Frank asked, slapping his teethless gums together.
“That’s a good question…” said Ray, then fell asleep.
Mikey shifted impatiently. “Why don’t we go visit the Unicorn Stables, Gerard?” he asked eagerly. “Would you like that?”
“No, Bob, we have to be onstage in ten minutes.”
“I’m not Bob,” Mikey informed Gerard, sighing again, “Bob’s not here right now.”
“Bob died?” said Adam Lazzara. “I’m so sorry to hear that…”
After a few seconds Frank made a little noise of distress. “Bob died? When?”
“No, no, Bob didn’t die, he’s in his room sleeping.”
“Sleeping… yes… you just keep telling yourself that,” muttered Adam, shuffling away with his walker.
“I never even got to say goodbye!” sobbed Frank.
“Bob is alive,” insisted Mikey. “C’mon, I’ll take you to see him.”
Mikey took Frank’s hand and pushed Gerard with his other, out into the hall. Mikey had to take out his map to remember the way to where Bob and the rest of MCR were.
“Let’s see, Rock is level three.”
“I thought that was the Country level?” said Frank.
“No, Country is level two.”
“Then where is Metal?”
“That’s a section of the Rock level.”
“Why don’t we live on the Rap, Hip-Hop and R&B level?” inquired Gerard.
“Because we were never Rap, Hip-Hop or R&B artists!” exclaimed Mikey.
“Says society,” said Frank. “I think we can choose to be whatever we want.”
Mikey growled silently. He was starting to wish he hadn’t moved in here. He hadn’t even gotten to visit the Unicorn stables yet! He rolled Gerard out of the elevator into Rock level 3. They needed three levels for Rock because there were so many subgenres of it.
“Let’s see, Emo is just to the left,” said Mikey. Each ward, be it Punk, Psychedelic or Heavy Metal, was decorated with memorabilia of the genre. Emo just happened to have black walls spattered with red paint to look like blood, and paper razors hanging from the ceiling. At least it had, until a few people had become offended, and they had taken the paper razors down. They hadn’t bothered to repaint the walls, though, because that took an awful lot of work.
Robots and broken heart’s had been stenciled onto some of the doors, and they had painted intestines on the floor. Mikey didn’t exactly get that last part. Must have confused this for another genre there, he thought.
Each rockstar had their own room, with their band name printed in it’s signature font on their door. Mikey navigated Gerard into Bob’s room, which was decorated with candy wrappers, calendars and a letter Spencer Smith and written to Bob. Spencer had died some years ago in a freak video game accident. Bob had not yet gotten over it.
“See, Bob’s fi…” Mikey trailed off, because Bob wasn’t even there.
“He’s… dead?” said Gerard.
“No, he must have just gone out!”
“Maybe he went to the Chapel?” suggested Frank. “It is Sunday, after all.”
“Maybe, but which Chapel do you think he’d go to? The regular one, the one for worshiping the Beatles, or the Ozzy Osborne/Prince Of Darkness chapel?”
Frank thought about this, his mouth hanging open, a string of drool making its way down his chin.
“Let’s just try them all,” said Mikey finally.
“Easy for you to say!” exclaimed Frank. “You may be surprisingly youthful for your age, but some of us used up a little too much energy when we were young…”
“Well, then, we can rest, if you want,” offered Mikey.
“No!” yelled Gerard. “I must find who stole my eyeliner! They will pay!”
“You go on without me,” said Frank.
“Alright, if you’re sure,” said Mikey, and pushed Gerard down the hallway and into the elevator.
♠ ♠ ♠
Not better than the first chapter.